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CHAPTER 30 - MORGAN
High up in the royalpavilion, I sat beside Orcades, waiting for the tournament to begin. Neither of us dared to say anything to one another. Not with Arthur and Fenyx so close by.
My brother and his general were conferring in whispers. When their conversation ended, Arthur clapped his hands and the herald stepped forward to officially begin the event.
The familiar drums sounded.
My stomach was filled with dread. I leaned forward, gripping the edge of the wooden rail in front of me.
Down below, the gate was opening. I glimpsed a group of people waiting with soldiers standing behind them.
As soon as the gate was fully open, the soldiers began to shout, pushing the people before them out and hitting them with spears, as if they were too afraid to escort them all the way into the arena.
I scanned the group, searching for Lancelet.
When my eyes finally landed on her, I hardly recognized her at first.
New bruises were layered over the painful scars on her face. She’d been beaten worse than the last time I had seen her.
Some part of me had held out hope that the participants in today’s tournament would be equipped with armor. But not only did none of them wear anything protective, I couldn’t spot a single weapon amongst them. Lancelet’s clothing was basically rags.
Lancelet moved into the arena slowly, her left arm dangling by her side. Her face was lined with pain. A broken arm? Or a dislocated shoulder? I clenched my jaw, wondering how by the Three she would be able to fight, let alone hold a sword.
The soldiers had disappeared. The gate clanged shut.
The prisoners began to spread out, looking around in confusion. I wondered if they were all captives of war like the last group or if some were citizens who, like Lancelet, were accused of traitorous activity towards the king.
A shout rang out. One of the prisoners was pointing at something.
In the center of the arena, lying flat in the sand and gleaming with an unnatural light, was Excalibur.
A single blade.
I scanned the group. There were fifteen, no, eighteen prisoners.
The vast majority of them raced towards the blade with not a little pushing and shoving. I saw one woman go flying into the dirt as a burly man pushed past her in his haste to reach the sword.
Lancelet was not among the mob. She remained near the gate, her face apathetic as she watched the prisoners fight and clamor. A few others stood nearby with bewildered expressions as if they had no idea what they were supposed to be doing or why they were even there.
